


Peace Through Strength

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [127]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Odin decides that Thor is to marry the prince of theJotunheim. Thor's not sure he's the best choice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Okay so we got married because of royal duties but I don’t speak a lick of your language… How do I communicate to you how hot I think you are?" Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

Their first kiss had been a public affair, of course. That was the entire purpose of their marriage: to be a visible symbol of the union of their ways of life. Some wars ended with peace treaties, other with surrender, but this conflict, the one that had defined the  _Asgard_ and the  _Johtunheim_ for all of Thor’s lifetime, had required a different sort of solution.

“But Father,” Thor had said when Odin’s proclamation had ceased, when he’d stepped back from the mechanic eye that cast his image to every corner of their vast, gleaming ship, “surely you don’t mean that _I_ have to marry him.”

“Oh, I do,” Odin said, frowning, for there were times when he worried that his eldest son was not the sharpest chip in the mainframe. “I do, indeed, boy. Were my words not specific? Did you not hear me just say?”

Thor blushed, his tanned cheeks turning an unfortunate red. “Yes, All-Father, I did. It was just--”

Odin stepped from the dais that lay at the edge of his chamber and moved back towards the arms of his throne. “My decision has been made. It cannot be questioned.”

“I know, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather send Baldur? Or Frigga?”

“Hmmm? Why should I want to do that?”

“Because,” Thor said, misery wringing the words from his tongue, “the prince of Johtunheim will want someone exquisite and beautiful. And truth be told, I am not.”

Odin squinted at his firstborn, his dark eye narrowing sharp. “My son,” he said, “you misunderstand. This is a marriage of ships, of great families, not of one being to another. What you do once your marriage is made is your business, so long as you and their prince remain in the same house. You may choose to live here; he may prefer you to live there. But make no mistake, Thor: your union to this Jotun is not meant to make you happy, nor him. So whatever you think their prince may want, whatever you believe he might desire is irrelevant. He’ll have you and that is that. He has no more say in the matter than do you.”

Thor walked back to his quarters, down the long corridors of the _Asgard_. Each corner now seemed beloved, each worn bit of dwarf-steel especially dear, for there was a very good possibility that, after his wedding, he would have chance to see none of them ever again.

He noticed, of course--how could he not?--that his father had not dissuaded him of the notion that he was not as lovely as his siblings, as perfectly crafted, as skillfully made. Their mother had been a sky-goddess, a being of energy and light, while Thor’s was a guardian goddess of earth, of the trees and water and soil. Frigga and Baldur were ethereal, twin suns, Odin liked to say, of their mother’s likeness. Thor had pale hair and pale eyes, just as they did, but where his siblings were thin, stars stretched into slender galaxies, Thor was built solid like a tree, his arms broad like rivers, his body more mountain than comet. He was a true blend of his parentage, a reflection of both Joro, his mother, and the self-proclaimed All-Father, Odin, a combination which, in the royal chambers at least, made him stand rather out.

No wonder, then, that his father had decided to send him to the Jotuns. Their ship rivaled the _Asgard_ in size, it was true, but rumor had it there were vast numbers of decks that lay unoccupied, whole quadrants of the ship that had fallen into disrepair and disuse. The war with the Aesir had been costly, had long since stripped the Jotuns of their best claims to treasure and power, but they were still a people to be feared, still a bloody thorn in Odin’s side year after year. A fierce enemy, yet, but not their greatest; worth spending a Odinson to bring the conflict to an end, but not the Aesir’s best and brightest.

So. It would be Thor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's MM prompt was "Space and/or Spaceships" and it made me think of this piece, to which I keep meaning to return.

The night before his marriage, his mother came to him in a dream, as she often did when difficulty lay ahead.

“My son,” she said quietly, her voice like distant fog, “why are you troubled?”

Tears crowded around him. “Because I don’t know what's to come.”

“We rarely do.”

“I know, but--”

She surrounded him in his dream, a warm, woody sigh that swept him up and cuddled him close. “You will be away from your father, though. Freed from his grip forever. I would’ve thought you’d be pleased.”

“He doesn’t want me here.” A knot of rage, a shimmer of self-pity. “The first chance he has and he’s marrying me off to someone I’ve never seen.”

His mother, even in spirit, did not waver. “Odin is giving you an opportunity, whether he knows it or not. You would be better to embrace possibility, Thor, than to spit on it because it comes from your father’s hand.”

He curled into his memories of her, pressed his face to the long-forgotten scent of her cheek, and some of his anger began to leech away, drawn out like a poison by the faint hint of his mother’s lost touch. “What opportunity?” he said.

“To be happy, my darling. To know what it is to be loved.”

“How can I love someone I’ve never met?”

“You can’t, yet. But you’ll be granted the chance. I know. I have seen it.”

“You know what is to come?”

“Only in shades, Thor. The play of future shadows.” The dream rippled around him, as if he’d tossed a stone into a stream. “And in them, I see more than just peace.”  


*****

They gave him some solace, these words, spun as they were in the skein of his mother’s firm voice, and when he stepped aboard the _Jotunheim_ at Odin’s heels, his anxiety was softened by curiosity, by the dim, ever-approaching prospect of a life at last beyond his father’s grasp.

“Majestet Laufey,” Odin said, dipping his head to the broad-shouldered creature who awaited them. “We are honored by your hospitality.”

Laufey nodded, dark hair tumbling over her blue face. “We are humbled that you are our guests,” she said. “And at such a time of joy, too. Isn't that so, Loki?”

She stepped aside and a youth slipped from her shadow to stand tall and sure at her side. “We are, mother,” Loki said formally, echoing her nod. “I and all of our people.”

“This,” Odin said, “is your especial guest. Though after today, he will stay and be your guest no longer.” He reached back and tugged Thor before him. “My son, your majesty. He is called Thor.”

Thor bit his lip and did his best to keep his eyes steady, his face smoothed into a mask of no concern. _As if I meet my betrothed every day_ , he thought with a hard swallow. _As if there is no worry at all_.

Had he looked closer, though, managed to peer past the scrim of his own discomfited butterflies, he would have seen on Loki’s face a mask just as unsteady, ready with a hard shake to break.

 _Who is this creature?_ Loki thought. _And why is he so pale? Have they kept him locked up far away from the light?_

He puzzled over the colorless skin, or so it seemed to him, to accustomed to the brilliant hues of the _Jotunheim_ ’s company was he. And those eyes--they were like a dying star, stripped down to the barest of blues. Even his clothing was dull: white and silver, so dulled that it was almost gray. Dear _stjerne_ , how would such a being bear the light and life aboard Loki’s ship, if so dim were the pleasures of his own?

And how could he be expected to kiss the thing’s mouth, to push his tongue through those dry, achromatic lips? He wrinkled his nose. Surely there would be no joy in that.

So caught up was he in his distaste that he did not realize until it was too late how long he’d allowed that expression to linger--long enough for Thor to spot it, long enough for him to read it, long enough for him to catch Loki’s gaze and _glare_ , and oh, it had been a long time since Loki had felt occasion for shame but his cheeks, it seemed, recalled well enough.

He felt rush of cold in his face as the color seeped from it and it took all his training not to hide behind his hands and wish the whole assembly away. 

“Loki,” his mother said, her hand firm upon his shoulder, “come, my son. It is time.”


End file.
